


All Things Truly Wicked

by LittlebutFiery



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Child Death, Gen, Ishval Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 19:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlebutFiery/pseuds/LittlebutFiery
Summary: "All things truly wicked start from innocence." - Ernest HemingwayNot all of Riza Hawkeye survived the war in Ishval.





	All Things Truly Wicked

Riza could barely keep her eyes open as she shuffled along on her pre-dawn perimeter check. She knew she needed to be cautious, keep her guard up, but she’d never felt exhaustion like this in her life. Basic training at the academy had been one thing, but this...she hadn’t had more than a few hours of sleep in weeks.

She was running on empty, and while she knew she couldn’t let it affect her performance...what she wouldn’t do for a good night’s rest.

A sudden sound snapped her back to reality, her senses flaring into high alert. What was that? Was it a hostile soldier, or a friendly, or…?

Finally, her eyes settled on the source of the noise. A small boy, no older than six, was sitting in the doorframe of a ruined building, tears streaming down his cheeks as he cried. He was scrawny and dirty, his only clothes a ragged tunic and a single tattered sandal, and the pitiful sight broke Riza’s heart.

The boy looked up as Riza approached and sobbed, “Ama...I...want Ama!”

She could tell by his swarthy complexion and crimson eyes that the boy was Ishvallan, immediately starting a battle within herself. On the one hand, she was at war with his people; she couldn’t count the number of his countrymen she’d killed. Many of her friends had been killed by them, too, and she’d heard the army’s unofficial motto a hundred times - “The only good Ishvallan is a dead one.”

Then again, though, he was just a boy. He was scared and alone, unable to fend for himself, no family in sight. She couldn’t very well leave him by himself. The nights were cold in Ishval, and the poor child would freeze overnight in his worn clothing. His family was most likely dead, but if there was even a  _ chance _ Riza could help him…

Riza walked closer to the boy; when he flinched away, she knelt down to his level, offering the warmest smile she could manage in this living nightmare. She pointed to herself and said, “Riza. I’m Riza.”

The boy roughly wiped his tears away, whimpering, “Hakeem.”

“Who’s Ama?” Riza asked, hoping he understood Amestrian.

“I...want Ama and Baba,” Hakeem mumbled, lips trembling.

Ama and Baba? Riza frowned, confused. Were those names? Titles? Ama and Baba…

Mama and Papa. That’s what he meant. He wanted his parents.

Riza’s hesitation was gone as Hakeem began to cry again, pleading for his parents. Despite everything, she had joined the army to help people. She had spent weeks trying to convince herself that all this blood and death and suffering had somehow, some way been to help the people of Amestris, with little success. But now, she finally could  _ actually _ help someone, even if in a small way.

She couldn’t let the opportunity pass by. Her commanders would likely know more about casualties, prisoners of war, or injured hostiles; they could probably help her find the boy’s family, alive or dead.

“You want Ama and Baba?” Riza asked, and Hakeem nodded vigorously. “I...want to help you find them.”

Hakeem looked at her, sniffling, and Riza hoped her point was getting across. “I...help. Help you find Ama and Baba.”

After a moment the boy’s eyes went wide and he nodded vigorously, pawing the rest of his tears away. “Help me...get Ama and Baba?”

Riza nodded, her smile growing. “Yes.”

She held out her hand and Hakeem took it, his little hand dwarfed by hers. Riza helped him stand and led him in the direction of headquarters, doubly careful to keep an eye out for danger. Hakeem clung to her like a shadow, his grip on her hand tight as he could manage.

 

The sun was high in the sky as Riza returned to camp, Hakeem stumbling along beside her. He was so small and malnourished that he couldn’t walk long without having to rest, so the journey had taken them hours.

Riza couldn’t help the worry wracking her, the fear she felt for her little shadow. If they couldn’t find his family, what would happen to Hakeem? He wouldn’t last much longer on his own; that much was certain.

She swallowed her nerves, offered the boy a big smile and a reassuring squeeze of the hand, and led him to the large tent where her commanders often reviewed intel and battle plans.

Sure enough, a general and several colonels were sitting at the large war table, talking amongst themselves. For a moment Riza hesitated to approach, fearing the officers were in an important meeting, before raucous laughter burst out. When she saw Brigadier General Fessler propping his feet up on the edge of the table, she relaxed, knowing her commanders were at ease.

“Excuse me, sirs?” Riza called as she approached. Hakeem’s hand was shaking in hers.

Fessler glanced over at her lazily, lighting a cigar. Riza immediately went to attention, saluting the men. “Cadet Hawkeye, reporting in from perimeter check, sir.”

“Go on,” Fessler nodded.

“The perimeter is clear, sir, with no signs of hostiles,” Riza reported.

“What’s that, then?” Fessler asked, nodding at Hakeem.

“I...found him alone, sir. He’s so young, he’ll die without our help. I...thought we might be able to help him find his parents,” Riza said.

Fessler looked Riza and Hakeem up and down before saying, “Come here, boy.”

Riza nudged Hakeem forward, moving with him, but Fessler shook his head. “Just the boy.”

Hakeem looked up at Riza, who offered him a reassuring smile and nod as she let go of his hand. General Fessler would help them find Hakeem’s parents, and all would be well. Even in the depths of this war-torn hell, she could still do her best to help.

Fessler eyed Hakeem again for a moment before suddenly drawing his pistol and firing, the gunshot deafening.

Riza was dimly aware of a horrible shrieking as the little boy crumpled to the ground. He was so small and broken, blood trickling from the bullet hole between his eyes, so innocent...so helpless…

She pressed her hands to her mouth, stomach heaving, and realized the shrieking was hers. She struggled not to vomit, her scream trailing off into a broken whimper, as Fessler tucked his gun away and laughed.

“We’ve told you all, cadet, the only good Ishvallan is a dead one,” Fessler sneered. “Sure, he was a child, but children grow up. We would have killed him sooner or later; better for everyone if we took care of it now.”

“I…” Riza tried to protest, but couldn’t. Hakeem’s blank eyes bore into her soul as tears began to slide down her cheeks.

“Don’t tell me you’re protesting, cadet?” Fessler’s voice turned sharp and dangerous. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson. If you bring another Ishvallan mongrel back to camp, it won’t be the only one I put down.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Riza managed.

“Now clean this mess up, before it starts to stink,” Fessler ordered, turning back to his fellow officers and cracking a joke that reduced them all to howls of laughter.

Riza knelt beside Hakeem’s body, closing his eyes before picking him up and carrying him away.

She found a spot far away from camp in the shade of a tall cactus, setting Hakeem’s body down and beginning to dig. She hadn’t thought to bring a shovel, so she dug with her bare hands, pushing sand aside as best she could. Hakeem deserved so much more than she could give him, but now the best she could do was offer him a proper grave.

It was nearly dusk when she finished, the grave deep enough to protect him from scavengers. Riza picked him up again, hugging his corpse to her chest, tears beginning to fall again. She sobbed, “I’m so, so sorry, Hakeem. I...I just...I wanted to help you...and...now…”

She couldn’t say it aloud, but she knew it to be true -  _ she _ had caused his death. Had she not taken him to camp, he’d still be alive...had she not been so  _ stupid _ …

Riza only let herself cry for another moment before laying Hakeem down in the grave, offering him one final, albeit weak, smile before pushing the sand back into the hole. When it was completely covered she stood, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Hakeem. I was a sentimental fool, and...you paid the price. I...I’ve learned. I...can’t let my feelings influence my actions. When they do...people get hurt. People...die,” Riza said, head bowed as she stood before the grave. “I can’t save everyone. I can’t...help everyone. But...I will never let this happen to anyone again. Not...not like this.”

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears and repeated, “I will  _ never _ let my emotions get anyone else killed. I won’t fail anyone else the way I failed you.”

Riza brushed away the tears and reached up to unclasp her necklace, the one Roy had made for her during the early days of his apprenticeship with her father. He had spent days struggling to transmute the pendant into the shape of Riza’s favorite wildflower, and it was one of her most prized possessions.

She laid it on the little grave, whispering, “The person who made this for me is a good man. He...he wants to change things for the better, too. I can only hope he’s better at it than I am. I...think you deserve this, more than I do.”

Riza remained there a moment, saying a silent prayer for the boy, before rising and turning back towards camp. She spared no second glance at the grave, nor did she need to; the image of it was seared into her soul forever.

She would never - could never - forget the lonely tomb in the desert, where she had buried her innocence alongside a lost little boy.


End file.
